Chemistry of Magic: Unexpected Magic Book Five (Unexpected Magic #5)(11)
She removed the garden of roses on her head. Rays from the setting sun accented ebony tresses with an almost blue-black sheen. A lovely hint of pink colored her high cheek bones.
“If you would not mind. . .” She hesitated.
“Let us understand each other from the start,” he said impatiently. “I will not fall into a sulk if you do not wish to do what I want. I will not strike you if you outright object. I will not break if you have a better idea. I am impatient, irascible, and tediously single-minded, but I still manage to be a gentleman. I have only a short time left in this world to learn your preferences. Speak your thoughts without fear.”
Without her hat in the way, he could see the weariness of her reluctant smile. “Then I should like nothing more than to wash and lie down, please. I will leave you to the larger bed. I believe the wagon with our servants and the rest of our baggage means to continue further down the road to arrive ahead of us. If I need aid, I’ll call on an inn maid. Thank you for understanding.”
Dare wanted to roar objection. All week he’d been planning for this evening! Admittedly, the inability to kiss her had a hampering effect, but he must have some kind of mental deficiency to let her escape without so much as a hug or semblance of regard. He could argue that the servants would gossip about their lack of conjugal rapport. . . but he had stupidly promised that she could have whatever she liked.
He would be an outright cad to object after she had seen to his comfort on their journey. The irony was that she had been right. He now felt invigorated enough to have the wedding night he’d planned. Tomorrow, he might not be able to say the same.
It was a delicate situation, but one he hoped he could manage with some degree of finesse. After all, he’d dealt with his all-female family for years without having them take off his head.
Clenching his jaw against protest, Dare bowed. “Your wish is my command, my lady.”
She nodded, picked up her satchel, and slipped into the smaller room, closing the door behind her.
Now what the devil did he do with himself and all the restless energy he’d never been able to contain until he’d been struck down by disease?
Not daring to take a bracing ride across the countryside and risk stirring his cough, he stomped down to the tavern to look for food and a good card game to join.
Emilia was perfectly capable of removing her own clothes. Her modiste understood her needs and designed everything to perfection so no other person need touch her. It helped that she was so skinny that she really didn’t need much of a corset. Her life had become much simpler once she’d dispensed with busybody servants tattling about the hours and company she kept.
She hung her lovely wedding gown on a hook and covered it with her gossamer hat. She untied the laces of her corset and shimmied out of it. She hadn’t suffered this exhaustion since she’d tried to save her infant sister from a severe asthma attack and had almost died herself. Caution had come not just with age, but with genuine fear of dying.
She tucked her precious satchel into the wardrobe. Wearing her shift, she slipped between the covers, listening as her new husband let himself out of the room next door. She couldn’t regret that he seemed healthier for her exertions.
But lying awake, wondering what a vigorous man like Devil Dare might be doing in an inn full of temptation, she had to admit to conflicting emotions. She had planned this marriage thinking they’d each go their separate ways—but she’d rather thought his way would be lying helplessly in bed. Foolish of her, she realized now.
She had known from an early age that marriage and carnal relations would never be for one with her unpredictable gift. A dying man had appeared to be an ideal solution. . . unless her need to heal him killed her first.
Lord Dare seemed like a reasonable man. Perhaps she could explain her dilemma about touching and pain. Tomorrow. Or after they reached Harrogate. Sometime soon, when she was certain he wouldn’t scorn her. Secure with that decision, she dozed.
She heard him return sometime later. The room was dark, but she didn’t know the hour. He bumped against furniture—looking for the lamp? She couldn’t decide whether to be fascinated with this new aspect of her life or frightened.
He started coughing at the same time as she realized she’d missed dinner and was hungry. Normally, she would call for Bessie, who was more companion than maid. But the servants had gone ahead to prepare the house for their arrival while the newlyweds were theoretically. . . newly-wedding.
She got up, lit a lamp, and pulled a robe from her valise. Wrapping it around her, she rummaged for more horehound. She wished she had a better palliative, but opium was a final stage option. As her new husband cursed, fumbled around, and coughed in the other room, she summoned her courage.
She heard him groan and cast up his accounts, and she panicked. Was he drunk?
How could she have forgotten that he was known as Devil Dare? A pleasant afternoon while he napped, a few brief conversations, and she thought he’d changed?
Should she pretend she didn’t hear him? Except, he was ill. She was constitutionally incapable of ignoring the ill.
Knocking briskly on the connecting door, she opened it without waiting for him to reply. The hot August heat made the room uncomfortable. He’d lit a lamp, so she could see to cross the room. He splashed water in the basin behind the dressing screen while she opened the window to let in what small breeze there was.